


sit with you in the trenches

by trinitarias



Category: The Poppy War - R. F. Kuang
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Spoilers for The Burning God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinitarias/pseuds/trinitarias
Summary: They’ve won Arlong. In theory, they shouldn’t have to worry anymore.Rin sleeps, and Kitay dreams.
Relationships: Chen Kitay & Fang Runin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44
Collections: WIP OLYMPICS: WINTER 2020/21





	sit with you in the trenches

Even in her sleep, Rin is troubled. Her brows don’t stop furrowing and her mouth is downturn, a constant frown carved on her face. It’s disheartening to see her like this – especially when he knows how much she’s been through. He wishes she didn’t have to suffer in her dreams, that she at least had some refuge from it all, somehow, somewhere.

They’ve won Arlong. In theory, they shouldn’t have to worry anymore. Kitay knows everything’s just started.

His fingers travel from her fringe, touching her short, coarse hair. There’s a scar on her nose, small and almost indivisible and he traces it with his index finger slowly, surely, committing it to memory. She breathes out a sigh, and her frown slips away. Her eyes flutter open and she almost smiles at him, crooked and the closest thing to pretty she ever looks. She’s too tired these days, exhaustion clinging to her like dried blood on clothing.

“Kitay,” she says, her voice hoarse, ashes clinging to her throat. Kitay nods, his hand retreating from her. She squints at the ceiling. “Is it my turn?”

“Not yet. You can sleep more if you’d like.”

She hums and shifts, careful to let the still-tender parts of her body free of pressure and faces him.

The Battle is a blur in his mind – he can see the moment Rin, Pipaji and Dulin went into the grotto vividly, how he could feel Rin’s anticipation in the way the thin scar around his wrist ached, Pipaji’s grim determination in the harsh corners of her mouth and Dulin’s mortification obvious in the twitch of his fingers. The rest is difficult to make sense of in regards of _sequence_ – Nezha, with his stern posture and circlets around his deadbeat wrists, the dragon dwarfing everything else in sight and his own fear growing and growing until it spilled over and it was all he could feel, all he could _be_ , just another scared little boy in the middle of a war he wasn’t sure he could survive.

He’d run to her then, dragging his body as much as the pain allowed him to, thinking _this is it, it’s over_ and if they were going to die, he wanted to be by her side.

They had said their goodbyes the previous night; Kitay letting his forehead rest against hers after he’d kissed it, lingering for far longer than usual, her hand fisted on the hems of his tunic, fabric completely wrinkled. She’d said _I love you_ , her voice cracking at the end of it, delicate in a way she can only be when she’s sure no one else can hear them and he’d said _I love you too. Come back to me in one piece, got it?_

It’s not often that they share a bed with all the gossip that goes around camp; Rin’s careful with her image, intends to keep it as polished as she can, but that night it felt like the only choice, arms and legs wrapped tightly around each other, clinging for dear life, already preparing for the worst. Her skin was warm; it always is, so warm it’s like his hand is hovering over a campfire, close enough to feel the prickle of the heat and far enough to not be burned.

That morning, the previous night felt like an omen. Tonight, it feels like something out of a dream.

She grabs his hand and treads their fingers together, deliberate, sure. Nothing about her is outwardly soft; she doesn’t let herself be seen like that. Her image is nothing but a myth becoming alive, girl-god sent to destroy everything in her path and leave the earth scorched in her wake.

A commander, a general, a _leader_ is built on loyalty and respect; all she has is intimidation and fear. It’s not meant to last. Kitay wonders if she knows.

When she fixes her eyes on him, says, “Lay with me?” it’s as close to soft as she allows herself to be. He doesn’t need to say anything back, just nods and sinks into the bed with her.

Sometimes he still thinks of her as the fierce, bright eyed girl he met at 15, whip smart and determined, yet naïve. A spine that wouldn’t bend to anything. She’s been burned to a crisp, all that’s left is a mere carcass of her younger self. Rin, he thinks, is someone who constantly builds and destroys herself for her own sake. He wants to tell her, _you don’t have to do that, you just have to be yourself_ yet he knows it’s useless – she’d nod, say _sure_ , and continue on deaf ears.

He doesn’t say anything now. The quiet of the night is too fragile to break, and all he wants a small pocket of peace with his anchor, his Rin. He doesn’t want to argue with her. Not right now.

“You’re worried,” she mumbles, eyes a red slit in the night. Candlelight barely illuminates her and the moonlight doesn’t reach them. She knows his entire soul. It’s no use to hide anything from her.

“I am,” he says, moving closer to her. In winter, their breaths would mingle. “You’re right.”

“Me too. I don’t – I don’t know what we should do. I’m not a ruler.”

“No, Rin. You’re not.”

 _You’re a force of nature_ , Kitay thinks. Too much to be here, too human and too fragile.

“There’s so much,” she murmurs. “How did Nezha –”

Nezha as a person, a friend, isn’t something they talk about often so openly. He remains between the cracks of her ribs, the small of her back and sometimes the shadows under her eyes, ghost of a boy she refuses to let go of.

He’s with Kitay too, always in the back of his mind, his voice going from the pitch of a cruel child to the sound of a defeated man, crawling on his knees and begging for one more chance, for survival. It’s him sometimes Kitay dreams about, his memories swirling together and creating a picture that never existed – Nezha’s hands against his own, entwined and eager as they study together, reciting Sunzi in his father’s house and Venka’s laughter tinkling close by, distracting them from their memorizations and into her orbit, calling them for one more round of hand-to-hand combat and tea after she’s wiped the floor with him and came to another standstill with Nezha.

It makes his heart clench, waking up from those dreams. The past is the past, but it’s impossible to not think about better times in the middle of the war; how much he’s missed due petty rivalries and stupid, childhood beef. If he were to do things again –

But it’s no use to think like that.

Kitay chooses his words carefully. No one is born for something. “He grew up here, Rin. It’s what he was raised to do.”

“You grew up here too,” she points out, tilting her chin towards him.

“But I was never supposed to become a ruler. Not like Nezha. You know that.”

Rin deflates as much as she can under the blankets, her posture losing its sudden rigidity. They lay face to face, her body close enough for him to feel the warmth she gives off and far enough for them not to touch except for their hands, intertwined and still between them, an anchor by itself. She’s looking at them, a pensive frown etched on her face.

“We’re going to do what we can,” she says and her voice shakes again towards the end, a slight southern accent coloring her words like opening old wounds. “And we’ll talk about this in the morning. Let’s just sleep for now.”

“What about keeping guard?”

Rin doesn’t trust much about Arlong, and she’s right to do so. But – he’s caught her looking at Venka with a spark of suspicion igniting in her eyes. He’s thought about mentioning it in passing yet the opportunity never comes, it doesn’t feel right. The quietest parts of his mind wonder if Rin’s ever looked at him under the dirty glass of mistrust and hopes, deeply, that she hasn’t.

_How could I ever betray you?_

“Just for tonight. Let’s sleep.”

Kitay closes his eyes and with Rin’s even breathing setting the pace, he falls asleep and dreams of a dark sky and the remains of a lonely island, burning for days.

In the morning, the room is more daunting than anything else – the weak rays of sunlight hide behind the furniture, escaping his notice, high ceiling loom over him just like the Dragon, its shadow making Kitay insignificant, a pebble sinking into a river; and the room’s strange for him, entirely too comfortable, nothing like what he’s used to these days.

It’s a punch to the gut. The weight of every battle crashes on him then, the bloody road left behind with no end in sight making the hairs on his arm rise, blood flowing out of his hands, making them cold and pale. Out of the corner of his eyes he can tell Rin notices the change, because of course she does. She’s already awake, always up right after sunrise, fire calling to fire.

They’ve stopped holding hands in their sleep.

“Come on,” she says, sitting up slowly, rubbing her eyes and offering her hand to him. They’re a breath, one and two, inhale and exhale. One after the other, always. “Let’s go.”

There are things to do. He takes her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from my personal rin & kitay anthem, _peace _by taylor swift. i can't tell you how much these two mean to me in words, but this is the closest i will get to it for now T___T thank you for reading! ♡ ♡ ♡ i hope my heart can recover soon (and yours too).__


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